


Leonine, Meline, and the Rest

by susabei



Series: Pretentious Snek Related Title [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Behind the Scenes, Commentary, Crack, Deleted Scenes, Drabbles, Fanart, Fanfiction of Fanfiction, Fix-It, Multiple Pairings, Not A Fix-It, Omake, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Outtakes, POV Multiple, Parody, Side Story, Tom Riddle Hates Retail, Tom Riddle is His Own Warning, Tom Riddle is a Communist, What-If, bonus chapters, ship roulette
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:47:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 18,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25961572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/susabei/pseuds/susabei
Summary: A spare place to put extras, dropped plotlines, and general shenanigans that don't fit within the main story of Serpentine.Read that fic first, or don't! I'm not your mom.Rating subject to change.
Relationships: Original Character(s)/Original Character(s), Tom Riddle/Original Character(s)
Series: Pretentious Snek Related Title [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1882468
Comments: 36
Kudos: 13





	1. He talks a lot for such a small boy

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Serpentine](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16194791) by [susabei](https://archiveofourown.org/users/susabei/pseuds/susabei). 



> this was a long time coming. if there's any ideas/requests for shit that won't appear within Serpentine, feel free to drop a comment or whatever.
> 
> This first entry is a thank you/bribery for receiving more than two reviews/comments on the fic last chapter. I got a boatload of them throughout almost all sites that the fic is on, I was very touched. I promised to write the first chapter/meeting between the main character and Tom through Ximena's POV. So here we are.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ximena's first few weeks of her second-year are different than last year for a reason she still doesn't realize.

In the weeks leading up to the first day of her second year, Ximena had debated with herself on dropping out--Something Señora Rivera was strongly against. The woman values education, and for that, Ximena respects her. But sometimes she oversteps her boundaries. She isn't her mother. At least, she doesn't think so. When she was younger, she'd look at her face and try to spot similarities. In the arch of their noses, curve of their eyes, sharpness of their jaws. But Ximena's seen photos of Señora Rivera when she was her age--and unless her father had the body of a flagpole, there was no way they were related.

But about dropping out: her first year was...a disappointment. To say the least. Everyone and their mother had praised Hogwarts in Diagon Alley, so maybe it was her fault for getting her hopes up ( _she knew_ she should have gone to Durmstrang). But it was too late for that. Probably. It's harder to create falsified documents after you already have some in place…

 _She could disappear._ Walk out the door and keep going until she hits the English Channel. Swim across it, maybe, can she even swim? She doesn't remember. She supposes she'll cross that bridge when she gets to it. _If_ she gets to it. And if she lives through the water. Again. If she can do that, she could probably find her own shelter. Her own teacher to apprentice under. Learn more magic than she knows what to do with. Outside of this curriculum that teaches so little. And who would miss her, anyways?

 _Well,_ she thinks, as the first years enter the hall, _Señora Rivera would._

It's a silly fantasy anyways. Ximena's head is rarely clear, even on a good day. She could disconnect from whatever her body is doing for hours and return to find she was halfway across Switzerland. And Swiss-German is not exactly easy to follow. Or Swiss-Italian. Swiss-French…

There's cheering. They're already half-way through with the first-years? She's slacking. Back to her book back to her book…

In the middle of translating a passage, she feels a prickle on the side of her head. The unmistakable feel of having a heavy gaze on one's self.

Ximena is, perhaps luckily, perhaps not, unable to notice.

_Ayac on matia ompa tonyazque_

_o ye ichan o zanio ye nican_

_in tinemico tlalticpac,_

_A Ohuaya_

When she sets the book down for a break, she's in the Slytherin girls' dormitory. It's gotten late again. Oh.

Well.

-

Any hope she had left that this year would be any different died by the time she sat down in her first class. Perhaps even St. Columba's was less puritanical than this environment (a thought that made her snort to herself as she walked to the library), mainly because (as a Catholic) she understood how intense the religion often was. They probably taught exorcisms and expulsion of creatures...Oh! How filled with regret she is...Sort of. The uniform looked stiff. But at least everyone would be equally dressed there. No fancy dress robes with colorful trim or gold buttons to further divide the upper class with those too poor to afford new shoes (and guess which group _she's_ a part of).

She sniffs. Black licorice.

Someone's looking at her.

She glances up from her tome--When did she get to the library? She supposes it doesn't matter. The one looking at her is just another student. She's never seen him before; though, if she had, she probably wouldn't be able to recognize him: there's nothing remarkable about him. Pasty skin, pretty face (albeit sickly), vivid blue eyes. He could be any other wizard. Is he in her year? She hopes she didn't forget about him, she feels bad when that happens.

Oh, he's talking.

"...are you reading?"

Ximena's brain processes the information...He's asking what she's reading? Innocent enough, but most people don't speak to her unless they want something...It's why her only social interactions are in her study groups (unless her body gets up to things she's not aware of, which she's almost positive it doesn't).

Hm. He's a little young, isn't he? He shouldn't be looking at books like these...It could be harmful, maybe. Mature, definitely. Should she answer with a truth? A lie?

"Poems."

Really, that should be the end of the conversation but he _extends his hand to her._ Like they're adults or something. Like he wants her to shake it. It's weird. Everything about this is…

He says his name. Full name. It doesn't stick. Slips out of her memory like oil on the surface of water. So, they don't know each other then. That's good. She'd feel bad if she had to recognize him.

Ximena decides that shaking his hand couldn't hurt, probably. He was probably just an overly friendly first-year who liked to read. What harm could come of it? 

The boy's hand is cool in hers, "Ximena." She says back, because as far as she cares, _that_ is her full name until further notice.

" _He-men-ah?_ " 

She nods once. He got it right. Not that it's a hard name to pronounce, though most do not spell it correctly on the first try (the amount of Jimenas and Hemenahs she's gotten are tiresome).

She doesn't expect to see him again.

\-- _Ah!_ Another Sacred Hymn. Her quill eagerly underlines the familiar glyphs, the ones she's seen so many times, that they might as well be inscribed in her skin. A floral heart? Blossoming? It's so poetic, one almost forgets these people tore out still beating hearts. Though, perhaps that level of violence contributes to one's way with words. _Xóchitl noyollo cuepontimania._ She'd love to have those words written on her one day. Tattoos are a little gaudy, but is she not allowed to be a little tacky? People already look at her like she's a delinquent and…

A sip from her drink--Tart sweetness fills her mouth and stains her lips pink. She's in the Great Hall eating lunch, and all she can think about is how delicious her food is.

"What are you reading today?" Who is that?

Ximena cuts through her chicken, answering automatically, "Something light." Was it? From her periphery, she can see a green book with gold script. Oh. Yes, right. She remembers now.

"Did you get that book from the library?"

Such a curious boy. Or perhaps nosy is the better word for it. If she didn't know better, she'd think he was smitten with her. How silly.

Ximena shakes her head in response, continues eating. If the boy continues speaking afterwards, she is not conscious of it.

It should bother her more, really, the knowledge that her mind and her body aren't always connected. And perhaps, when she was first found, it _had_ bothered her immensely. But now there's no sense in trying to control something she can't. Nobody seems conscious of the fact that it happens aside from her and Señora Rivera, so maybe it's not even serious. If it were, wouldn't someone have noticed? Take her aside and speak to her about it, take her somewhere? A doctor? Healer? Something?

No, it's silly to think that others would show concern over her. Especially if they're strangers. Sometimes she thinks she's lucky to have at least Señora Rivera, who while uncaring, is very sympathetic. She's one of the only ones at the abbey who looks like her--Hence, why she had hoped maybe she was her mother when she was little. But she's had this thought before, right? Yes. Many times. Over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over

Her fingers graze over a line of books, and the tingling excitement of being in the restricted area, in a place where she shouldn't be, returns. It's a good spot. A damn good spot. Maybe she's not allowed to be in here because it's hiding things that will help her. Or fix her. How wonderful it would be to not be defective--

Ximena catches a whiff of something cloying. Is someone eating candy in the library? No, no it's that boy again. His name doesn't stick, but she knows his house. His year. How tall he is in comparison to her. How much he eats at mealtimes. How much others talk about him. It's all the same with the people around her. They don't care about the details she _does_ remember, but get upset at the names. It's always names with these people. Names are hard. She's lucky she remembered _Ximena_ when the sisters asked her what it was--She was going to be named something else. Something strange and Greek.

The boy really shouldn't be in this section. First-years are limited to the ground floor of the library, but can she really deny him the knowledge he's clearly so desperate to grab at? Maybe that's why he wanted to talk to her, to try and get access to next year's materials? It makes enough sense, though it would have been easier if he had been tailing someone older than her…

Maybe he's shy.

He does seem the type. Small and frail, almost waif-like, actually. Avery had mentioned he was an orphan (though she doesn't remember _when_ he mentioned that), and while Ximena isn't technically in the same boat (she changes her mind on whether she'd want to be or not), she can understand the aversion to people...But he's social isn't he? Yes, that's why people always seem to be talking about him. Or is that because of something else?

Well, it's none of her business. Oh! She's found the book she was looking for...She was looking for a book? Well maybe, maybe not, but this one is calling out to her. It has a gilded picture of a unicorn on it, and they're going to be feeding them in Care of Magical Creatures soon...She hopes she's there for that, mentally and physically. The thought of petting one brings an excited joy to her heart.

When she takes out the book, the boy following her takes out the book that was next to it (a later edition of the same manuscript) and sits beside her in front of the shelf. Though he sits and reads through the pages, every once in a while, he'll tip his head up and ask her a question--And she doesn't always have the answer, but she'll give him her best approximation, and a recommendation on where to find the actual answer. Unfortunately, her memory recall ability isn't the best, but that's nothing new. At least she can mostly remember what books will contain what information.

If only she could remember her mother's face.

The boy's questions aren't annoying, except when they are, but she can't really be upset at the pursuit of knowledge. It's why she's so open with the younger students who come to her for advice during meal times. It's the closest thing to kinship she has within this school: the feeling of not having enough. Most of the other witches to come to her are Ravenclaws, but there's always a good enough mix in the batch to inspire the hope that one day these tribal houses will break. What was the point in separating all of them anyways? She didn't really read Hogwarts: A History, but she's sure it wouldn't have explained anything properly. Most history books don't. It's why she's taken to mulling around in the Slytherin library for her own purposes: most of the diaries have hoarded information. Academics are abysmal at communication, after all. Or so Martha tells her (and she would know! She thinks).

“ _Ximena,_ ” there's that voice again. So high, she mistakes it for a girl's voice, “it says in my potions book that I need nigella seeds, but I can’t find anything useful on them anywhere.”

It's almost like he's searching for an excuse to speak with her. But that thought slips out of her head as easily as his name did. Instead, she looks up from her genealogy book to try and see what he was looking at, “Your kind of witches and wizards call them blessing seeds.” Her hand slides over the surface of his book, pointing to a picture of a black mound of said seeds, he follows her finger, “You won’t find anything useful about them in any English book.” Her hand and attention return to her own literature, out of impatience. “--Try Punjabi.”

She adjusts the bracelet on her wrist, the threads were tickling her skin, and rakes over the illustration on the page. Wizards liked to name their children after other people, so she's been looking for others named Ximena or Ximenez. So far, the search has fallen short, but that's no surprise. There's no one here that looks like her. The darker skinned students have different features, different hair textures, different magic. It's almost pointless to want to search but oh-- _what if?_

Well, _what if_ she finds proof of her family? She has no idea what she would do in all honesty. Cry, maybe. Tell someone? Dumbledore seemed invested enough in the idea when they first sat down for tea, but something in her gut tells her not to trust him. It's probably nothing, but ever since Señora Rivera explained her _condition,_ he's been strange about eye contact. Ximena isn't paranoid enough to think it was anything serious, but now she only looks at him between the eyes.

A sneeze, she says 'bless you'. There's a chuckle, " _You Catholics..._ " Someone's talking to her again. His name escapes her, but he always smells obnoxious. Like expensive cologne and birds of paradise. 

" _..it's so cute, how he follows you around everywhere."_ Who follows who around everywhere? _"I think it's his first crush."_

Ximena remembers her first crush. At least she thinks she does. She was seven and accompanying a sister to the market when another girl her age smiled at her. Ximena's face had grown warm and she hid it in the sister's clothes. Ah. She wishes she had had the courage to go talk to her. Maybe make a friend...

"Lane? Are you listening to me?"

She presses her lips together, "How should I start my paragraph on the Battle of the Bell?"

-

It's her first year in Dueling Club, and she's finally able to say she's a part of it. Officially. Señora Rivera signed her slip and she can get as close to the ring as she wants. 

It's nice, for the moments where she's conscious. 

Her official guardian had been concerned about her desire, but even more concerned at her lack of self defense, so she conceded rather easily on that front (lest they have _another_ imploding padre incident). She had even written on the slip to allow Ximena a handicap, but knowing how cutthroat Willow is, it's unlikely that will happen.

Still, she hopes to never be called on. The last thing she needs is to accidentally seriously injure someone with witnesses around...Could you imagine the scandal? That's not worth her education. Probably. Unless she decides to drop out like she wanted to. Best to have her options open.

"Riddle might join Dueling club, you know." Birds of paradise. Cologne that cost more than her organs on the black market.

"Who?"

She's watching a pale Hufflepuff girl a few years above her and a handsome Ravenclaw boy in her year duel. It's interesting. The girl is clearly trying not to hurt anyone and casting shield after shield while the boy is trying to encouragingly goad her into attacking.

" _Lane._ " His voice is exasperated, like he's been over this time and time again, "Don't play dumb."

Sometimes she thinks she doesn't have to, "I didn't know I was playing a game." What is it with Slytherins and games, anyways? Everyone always thinks she's being clever or mysterious, but really she's probably the most open out of all the snakes in the pit.

He chuckles, pressing his fist into her arm, trying to be friendly, maybe, "The little lost boy always following you around."

Hm...Ah.

"Tom?"

He mocks her answer, parroting it back to her, " _Who else?_ You got any more secret admirers?" 

"They're secret, I wouldn't know."

He keeps talking, but Ximena tunes him out. She only speaks when the duel is over.

"Her shields." She starts, maybe interrupting him, maybe not, "They're thicker than his."

"Who, Kowalski's?" A glance is spared, "Yeah, she's pretty good for a muddie."

"Why, though? They're using the same spell." Her finger taps on her lip, "And they're at similar levels...Shouldn't it be about the same?"

" _There go you again,_ " he doesn't really dignify her question with an answer, he just shakes his head. What did she expect? "--That's just how magic is. You're sounding like a Ravenclaw, Lane."

What difference does squawking or hissing make? Roaring or whatever sound it is that badgers make? This is stupid. She should have gone to Durmstrang.

At least there, people wouldn't call her _Lane._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FUN FACT: that is the first and only time Ximena has said Tom's name in all of this story. Technically she still hasn't said it aloud in the main plotline. Heh.


	2. Tom really fucking hates retail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU where Tom doesn't really talk to Ximena during school, merely pines from afar, and thus: changes the timeline. Based on the tumblr post: "*walks into an antique store* i’d like to see your most evil items, please"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I blame this on theaspiringcynic

When questioned on his decision to intern at Borgin & Burke's, Tom disclosed a long-held desire to handle antiques. Something easily digested by most of the student body, seeing as he had spent seven years pretending to be an academic, humble boy with a respect for magic. He had gotten the job quite easily: he's over-qualified and content with being criminally underpaid. Borgin had wanted someone to deal with the unimportant customers and Burke had heard of him through his nephew in Hogwarts (a year behind Tom, he was a close part of his retinue). It also didn't hurt that Tom had a magnetic personality and a ridiculously handsome face, despite his sharp features (the boy looked two steps away from the grave, but that was a story for another day).

However, anyone who  _ really _ knew Tom (and that number of people is astonishingly low) knew that a salesclerk is not all he wants to amount to in life. 

There's a uniform he has to wear: a simple plain black apron that's definitely seen better days (Tom suspects the last clerk died wearing it) which he has to wear at all times when on the clock and any set of plain robes he has. Black or dark green preferred. It's nothing exciting or glamorous, but it helps pompous customers establish a sort of dominance over him in their heads. How could a humble, poor, little terribly dressed salesclerk  _ possibly _ have the brain capacity to con them out of their precious family heirlooms? 

Well considering the fat stack of galleons he has despite being paid such low commission, he likes to think he's more than proven himself.

That's not to say that this job has been all good. Far from it. The sheer disrespect that people give him when they see he's an employee is astronomical. Far greater than anything sneered at him when it was believed that he was a Muggleborne in Slytherin, and leagues more than was thrown at him as a little orphan at Wool's. Even after introducing himself as  _ Tom, _ they call him  _ boy. _ Snap their fingers at him. Treat him as lowly as a house elf and claim that they help  _ pay his salary. _ Disgusting. The sheer hubris and egotism dripping from their every pore. As if they were better than he because of money. If Tom wanted, he could crush them all like beetles under his thumb. With his words, his charisma, his magic—He's been growing in power since he was small, and his education at Hogwarts ( _ his excursion into the dark arts _ ) has only amplified it. It's a fucking joke that he be subjected to the whims of spoiled brats in adult bodies who don't even know how to read.  _ The sign says no returns. No refunds. _ He shouldn't have to suffer for others' stupidity and clumsiness. Moreso when they touch items that are clearly labeled as cursed.

Needless to say, Tom's opinion of humanity has gone down even further since starting this job. He wonders if it would be any worse had he gone into politics like Slughorn had wanted him to.

The bell rings, signaling another customer--and for Salazar's sake, it's  _ five _ minutes until closing, does no one read the sign on the door? Is everyone in Knockturn Alley just incapable of reading plain English? Must they add on ten other languages to the sign so that he may be left in peace to count the register and deposit the receipts? If he has to tell  _ one _ more person that they cannot speak to the owners, he'll expire--

He pauses. The pulse of magic is familiar. Yet it is not one of his Knights. It's more fluid. Something twisting and running like a river. Cool and ever-changing. His tongue even slips out to taste the air— _ Gingerroot.  _

She says something, but his brain doesn't process it. Instead, he is flashed backward into a memory. Of boyhood. Of watching duels between powerful witches. Of displays of pure, wild magic, crackling and cannoning before him.

Oh.

His shoulders lose their tenseness, and he brings his arms up on the counter to lean on them, closer to her. His smile is bright and open. Eyes dark and terrifyingly blue. Venomous. "Hello Lane. I haven't seen you since my sixth year."

Ximena Lane blinks as if Tom had called her by the wrong name (and he tenses at the thought because Lane  _ was _ her family name in school), before fully registering it, "...What?"

Holding back a grimace, he quickly comes to terms with the idea that she might have forgotten him quickly after her graduation. They hardly spoke in school, and were in different years, so it's only natural… "I was a year behind you in Hogwarts, we shared a house." He takes the opportunity to extend his hand towards her, wondering if it was  _ too _ intimate and familiar for him to kiss the top of her hand as a customer. 

"Oh." The mention of Hogwarts brings some clarity into her eyes, but no recognition. Ximena also makes no move to shake his hand, choosing to (instead) stare at it. Stare at it for an… unsettling amount of time. "That."

He blinks, the intensity of her stare weighing on him in a way not entirely unpleasant, "Pardon?"

"Your ring." She presses her lips together briefly, "It's the most rancid item in here. I want it." 

His...ring? Tom looks down at the Gaunt ring, silent and unassuming. He'd forgotten he was wearing it, as a matter of fact. So silent was his own soul fragment...She wanted it?

An indulgent blanket of smugness engulfs Tom. Of course she would be able to tell. To sense it. Of course she would covet a piece of him...Identify it as the most powerful object. The most dangerous object.

"This old thing?" He lifts his hand in a display of showmanship, as if it really were any old ring, "It's been in my family for generations...I couldn't possibly part with it." How would she react if he dangled it right in front of her? Would she reach out and try to take it from him?

"I have a full set of hag claws in perfect condition." Her long fingers drum on the table, "And teeth from a samodiva." 

That determination. He likes it. But where on earth had she procured such items? Certainly he was  _ interested, _ but..."My family ring is not a piece of inventory...I apologise,  _ Miss _ Lane."

"Ximena." She corrects, allowing him permission to use her given name before continuing as if he said nothing, "Mermaid scales. Twelve of them. Given willingly." 

His brow cocks, his interest raises. Still not worth his soul but… If he could keep her here, "I'm truly sorry,  _ Ximena, _ but we are about to close, and I really cannot bear to part with this ring."

For a moment, he thinks she might give up. Her shoulders sag and she sighs, mouth closed. Still looking at his ring. Not at him. He does not want her to stop trying to haggle him, it's the most exciting thing that's happened all day. Usually, he'd abhor having to deal with a stubborn customer attempting to lower down a price set in stone, but with her…

"Why don't you come back tomorrow?" He baits, his customer service smile still on, "I'm sure I can help you find something  _ better _ than this old ring."

_ For another moment, _ he thinks maybe she didn't hear him. 

"Okay."

She turns around and walks out the door. Tom watches her go from inside the shop as she disappears down the alley. 

-

The following couple of days are spent similarly. 

Tom works his silver tongue to the metaphorical bone trying to get her more interested in him than the ring, and she does not make it easy. Manipulation and charm were so  _ easy  _ on witches and wizards he had no interest in but…

Well, he had trouble complimenting her.

Had it been, say, Nemesis Fawley (a smart but terribly grating girl in his house), the words would have come easy to him. All he would have had to do is spin some words over her  _ starlight hair _ or her  _ sunlit eyes _ or some other such nonsense. She'd have been putty in his hands. Would have believed that he put the planets in the sky. In fact, she might have even betrayed her family at his word.

His former upperclassman, on the other hand…

"You look...healthy...today."

This was met with a blank look and a reply somewhere along the lines of 'you look like a sickly victorian child', before she asked for his ring again. 

Ximena does not beat around the bush, she continues to insist that he part with his horcrux, though she does not know that it is. Merely that it is 'the evilest item in this building'. Not exactly the phrasing he would have used, but so be it. He, for his part, continues to dance around the subject, instead showing her the various items for sale in the shop and fishing for information, which she gives away sparingly and cryptically.

After Hogwarts, she had picked up an apprenticeship with a man who may or may not be a vampire (either that, or he has an aversion to garlic), and spent time traveling through Spain. He'd always wondered if that was where she was from, considering her name, and when he asked her this, she responded with clear disgust.

" _ Colonizer bastards. _ " She had muttered, after which he had asked if she considered the English in a similar light, and she said 'of course' and went right back to demanding his ring, citing  _ reparations _ . 

In a move unexpected and completely out of character, he offers reparations in the form of dinner.

"You'll sell me your ring at dinner?"

"The ring will  _ certainly _ be there."

"With  _ you _ ?"

He tries not to let it be a blow to his ego that she'd rather see the ring than him. But he is patient. He has always been patient. 

"Boy, stop flirting and get to your job—I want to speak to your manager!"

Yes, _ patience Tom… _ Soon they shall all rue the day they made you get the manager.

-

Tom's salary is enough for a room above the shop and groceries every week. It is not enough for clothes fit for an… outing. Borgin and Burke are stiff with their money, despite the fact that their sales have gone up the moment they hired Tom. Capitalist bastards. As if they weren't already growing fat off their net worths, allowances, and inheritance.

Regardless, even if Tom doesn't have money, he has a brain and he uses it well. He cleans his robes and charms his shoes to look brand new and polished, and it's not the same housekeeping charms he learned in school, it's backed up with runic inscriptions on the soles and hem. Perhaps he'll bring up the method to Ximena on their...outing.

Though he prompted dinner, his meager salary (and his insistence on saving up money for later endeavors) can only afford him a decent treat for the two of them at Florean Fortescue's. He's always had a soft spot for sweets, and in his defense: Ximena does not seem to mind this. He holds the door open for her and pulls out her chair, and the moment she sits down, she's on him about the ring again.

He asks her about her day.

It's not that he  _ doesn't _ wish to share his greatest achievement...He rather thinks she'd be impressed with him. Wowed, even. Perhaps seduced? If the ring hadn't attracted her attention so quickly, he'd have eventually shown it to her on his own...Just to see what she had to say. It's itching at him constantly, actually. The night prior, he had laid awake thinking about her reaction to the truth...That the ring held a piece of his soul. That what she was so attracted to was his very essence…

There's no way he's going to  _ give _ her the ring, of course, or sell it to her. Only a… Only a trade of equal value would be accepted. Now there's a thought. A horcrux of her own… It would only be to ensure that she wouldn't  _ do _ anything to his. Naturally. It's insurance. Collateral. And it's not like he'd want anything to do with a piece of her soul...No, not at all.

He lasts eight seconds into the conversation before he cracks, watching Ximena eat her sundae (which was overpriced), "It's a horcrux."

Her black irises look up and to the side, trying to recall any information she might have heard about such a thing, "Your soul's in this?"

_ So she has heard of it...She's dabbled in the dark arts as well, _ "Part of it...If you take it, I'm your responsibility."

"I just want the ring, not you." Another spoonful goes into her mouth, "Did you really split your soul? That seems stupid."

Tom explains it all,  _ no no, not at all... _ It was actually quite clever of him! To go where magic has not yet been taken. All of Ximena's inquires are answered (she's actually interested in what he's saying, it's delightful!), and at the end of it, he's sure she'll see what a crowning achievement this is for him—

"You're stupid." He feels his ego deflating. His shining fantasy shatter. "I like that." 

He perks up.

" _ Then wait until I tell you this: I made more than one..." _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who...actually like this ship, lmao. It's hard for me to actually write Tom...openly liking Ximena, jdklfjslkfjsdlk, I can't explain it.
> 
> I projected a lot of my bitterness from working in hospitality on Tom...Does it show, lmao. 


	3. ximena speaking bulgarian is big brain (pt. 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU where Ximena went to Durmstrang and also I guess there's a Triwizard Tournament for some reason. Or: Tom has a crush on a Durmstrang witch and doesn't know how to deal with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I also blame this on theaspiringcynic, for her comment on chapter one: _"Ok but Ximena as a Durmstrang student...showing up to the Yule Ball...let me marinate in that image for a second."_

Durmstrang is a dream. But not all dreams are good.

Forging the papers needed for her enrollment was a Herculean task undergone by Señora Rivera, and to this day, Ximena has no idea how the woman did it. Upon asking her, she had dropped some vague, half-hearted excuse about knowing someone from before she had taken her vows; naturally, this did nothing to satisfy Ximena's eternally burning curiosity. But that was normal.

_ This _ is her normal now. Weather colder and harsher than Britain, deep furs and leathers on her uniform, and the dark magic in her soul singing. Such acceptance! When she asks her professors a question on dark topics, they do not grow concerned. They do not eye her with suspicion. No. They look interested in what she's saying. They help her. They fill in the blanks in her head. The spaces where information  _ belongs. _

At least, they would if she wasn't a foundling.

There is no word for foundling in Bulgarian, but there is the phrase  _ abandoned child. _ Ximena hears this a lot. To her face, behind her back, in the periphery of her hearing… Why would a magical family abandon their child unless something was wrong with them? Only a Muggle family would do such a thing, and do we really need  _ those _ kind here? 

That is what she gets for sharing. Some days, she debates the merits of closing her mouth and never speaking again. What peace.

At least the student body is less cruel. Or more honest. Skill and wandwork speak volumes here, and she's more than proven herself,  _ if she says so herself _ . Which she does. Ximena's not dumb enough to believe she has  _ friends _ but there are people who know her name and don't mind when she sits at their table and listens to their conversations. These are the people she speaks to about the upcoming tournament the most. Why host an event that was canceled for bloodshed? Wizards don't make any sense.

They laugh at her.  _ Silly Ximena, _ they say, clasping their hands on her shoulder,  _ practicing black magic and turning your nose up on the Triwizard Tournament. So silly. _ As if they weren't mutually exclusive. Is she missing something?

Maybe somewhere in her scrambled brain, there's a cog that needs to be fitted back in its proper place, and when it's repaired, she'll begin to understand the people around her.

-

Eternal glory is something that should, in theory,  _ only _ appeal to the rowdy Gryffindor mongrels, but when the tournament is announced, Tom is disappointed (not surprised) to see his fellow Slytherins vibrate with excitement. Dion proclaims his desire to enter and Evan shares an anecdote on the last Rosier to win the cup. Tom is about to open his mouth to make his (correct) opinion be known on the matter when the age requirement is announced. He lets his satisfied, smug smile do the talking.

While the competition would be slim pickings and the money helpful, it's not worth his time. It's a distraction. Like Quidditch, like Dueling Club, like all the other silly little extracurriculars that this school tries to throw at him. They're all in his way. 

The first school to roll in is Beauxbatons, who were interesting for all of five seconds before Tom decided they were flimsy and brittle. What kind of display of strength is shown in delicacy and grace? He'd be surprised if any of them could hold themselves in a duel against a Hogwarts first year. Or a gentle breeze.

He refrains from rolling his eyes as Nemesis coos over them and their light magic displays. Daft girl. At least Hedwig has her head on correctly (hence, why he usually tolerates her)

Durmstrang is more to his liking. At least, they are before deciding that the students are airheaded brutes. Why, if he didn't know better, he'd think he was watching a circus performance.  _ Honestly, _ are there any other respectable wizards out there aside from himse— 

He is thankful he wasn't speaking his thoughts aloud, because then he would have to explain  _ why _ he had stopped talking so suddenly. Instead, he sits comfortably in silence and stares openly.

There's a commanding presence about her, as with all the students from the Eastern school, but hers is a shade quieter. Nothing near as brash and obvious as with the others. A black hole within a cluster of burning stars. It's… more appealing. Sure of herself. There's no need to prove any superiority because just by  _ existing _ she is proving it.

It reminds him of himself.

He hates and covets it. 

-

It would be a lie to say that she wishes she had gone here. While it is miles (countries) closer to the abbey, the students here whisper about the dark magical practices done at Durmstrang. They don't approve. Or if they do approve, they don't do it for the right reasons. 

Grindelwald is still at large and quite influential with too many of them. At least, that's what Ximena hears from the history professor. Though politics is everyday more important in the lives of her and her fellow witches at Durmstrang, Ximena can't find it in herself to care. If anything, the man's desired extremist end results would help  _ her _ in her own goals, right? Even if, you know, countless people have to die for it.

Well, the point is (she thinks?) that a lot of people here  _ really _ like the dark flair of Grindelwald. For the wrong reasons (is there a right reason to support a budding dictator?) And these people are  _ not _ her kindred spirits. Why, she bets that  _ none _ of them are able to perform a proper ritual sacrifice using the correct body parts of the right animals. 

It's downright shameful. And they call themselves witches?

Alright, so maybe she's guilty of her own prejudices...She never said she wasn't! Did she? She'd like to think she'd remember such a thing, but since she doesn't even know her own given surname, well...Maybe before she was found, she was a nicer person. Kinder. Softer. 

As for the students, well, they seem to dislike her for different (albeit also similar?) reasons than her own classmates. First off, everyone seems to keep asking her where she's from. Who her parents are.  _ What race of man is she. _ So far, the guesses have been Ethiopian, Hindu, Moor, Turkish—It's interesting but annoying. Just how many bloodlines people see in her face. It's strange, isn't it? How they can see all of these traits and she can't recognize anything when she looks in the mirror. Yes, very strange. Or just sad.

" _ Are you a Mamluk? _ " One girl is very forward with this inquiry, and she's not sure if she should pretend not to have heard her or just shrug and be honest. The girl, a glimmering silver snake pinned to her robes, looks to be kind enough. No cruelty in her golden eyes, no real condescension. Merely curiosity. Inquiry. She has quite a pretty smile.

Ximena ignores her anyway.

-

The Durmstrang students take their lessons on the ship, but every so often, one of them is seen in the Hogwarts classrooms for an elective not offered to them. Tom had been expecting to see her on one of these occasions, but he learns much later that she is an older student. By only a year. Pity.

He comes by this information by way of Nemesis, who has taken to being hospitable and welcoming to the foreigners, more specifically the witch who’s occupied a good amount of free space in his head. Right inbetween thoughts of the murder of his father’s family and speaking to Slughorn about what a horcrux is. She fits there perfectly, the dark tones of her aura weaving in flawlessly with his dark thoughts. He hasn’t yet gotten close enough to her to try and taste her magic but...

Tom learns her name is Ximena Lane on the day Dueling Club starts up again. Older students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang have kindly offered to demonstrate and teach their knowledge (he’s not so stupid as to believe this, the professors at both schools are notoriously closed mouthed about sharing secrets of education like that), but it’s at least an excellent time to compare himself to the rest of the elite wizarding world.

_ Ximena Lane. _ Hispanic and Anglo Saxon. If he didn’t know any better (and he  _ always _ does), he’d think she was the result of a joining of two wizarding families on different continents. But the name Lane doesn’t occur in magical circles. He’s read up on more than enough genealogy books  while desperately searching for his father to know this. Lane is a Muggle name. A foundling name. He’s met others with that surname, all at Wool’s. Abandoned, unwanted, or just unlucky.

He’s willing to bet her parents abandoned her for being a witch.

Ximena Lane is called to duel up against one of her classmates: a lean, but stalwart boy.  _ Ivanova _ . Tom does not expect to be impressed by him or his cocky demeanor. The same applies for his opponent.

His eyes do not stray from her, regardless.

Her wand is drawn, and despite his keen eyes, he isn’t able to discern any real details before it transforms in her hand: a small, branch looking wand, green in color, morphing into a long walnut wood staff. Taller than she is. Thicker than a broom handle. She ignores the gasps of awe from the Hogwarts students, wielding the staff like a lance and focusing entirely on her opponent. As she should. The chitterings of sheep do not matter. They are beneath her.

The other wizard isn’t intimidated, nor is he surprised at the change in his adversary’s weapon. They’re often sparring partners, then—Tom can tell. The familiarity that lies in the wizard’s eyes practically scream to Tom that these two are comrades. Brothers in arms.  _ Friends. _

He taps his finger on the top of his thigh, impatient.  Envious.

When the fight begins, none of them cast. Waiting for the other to strike first, and oddly physical: rather than stay rooted to their spots at opposite ends of the dueling ring, they pace. Moving their feet to their left, clockwise, staying across from each other at all times. Eyes never blinking.

Her opponent runs up to her, closing the gap, his wand flicking and turning into a poniard without a guard. He intends to physically  _ slash her  _ **_like some type of common Muggle_ ** **—**

Flames spark from the point, trailing in the air like a ribbon. Ximena blocks it with her staff to the sound of a chorus of excited exclamations. The dagger does not cut into the wood as Tom would expect, nor does the flame seem to catch.  _ Still, _ it’s worth noting how quickly she parried. Stopped the flame from reaching her; is she weak to fire?

The two continue, exchanging thrusts for parries, using their entire bodies in their magic: a dance. Rhythmic and hypnotic in their movements. He was wrong about the wizard being defensive, as all he has done is attack furiously at close range (perhaps he was only creating suspense for the audience. Tch.) while Ximena has yet to utter a single spell. He would know, his hearing is immaculate. His eyesight sharp. He would have seen her lips move. He would have tasted her magic on his tongue.

Ivanova’s magic tastes as it looks: a hot cinnamon base with accents of something sharp. A spice or flavor profile Tom is unfamiliar with. He can only compare it to coriander. It billows out like bursts of hot air, contrast to how sleek and beautifully controlled his mastery of fire spells is. He can practically feel Ian Rosier turn green with envy from across the room. 

Ivanova says something to Ximena, in a language Tom can only identify as Russian. The tone is teasing and lighthearted. Nothing to take offence to.

But then he accents this teasing with higher aggression. He puts down his armed hand and holds out his other one, palm facing her. Murmurs  _ firaga _ as pulses of flame emit from his open hand and envelope the witch in a blossom of heat. Spectators gasp. Tom’s hand grips the top of his thigh as he unintentionally leans in, waiting. Waiting. Waiting.

Cracking out of the fire as if it were a cocoon, comes a cool surf of water and  _ magic. _ Extinguishing the flames surrounding Ximena by enveloping her like a new skin. He can see her lips moving. Chanting. It is a complicated spell. It must be requiring all of her concentration. One little distraction and…

Tom closes his eyes, relishing in the sharp, distinct richness of ginger in her magic. His savor is interrupted by the sounds of fighting again. The crowd around them hungry to see a victor.

He opens his eyes.

She is pushing back now. Water trailing at the end of her staff as if it were a poised, striking snake. Her mouth continues to move, to incant her spell of elemental manipulation: allowing the water to protect her from Ivanova’s flaming dagger while striking back.

“ _ She’s aiming for his neck. _ ” Hedwig mutters from beside him, “Here I thought she’d be a boring little wallflower.” 

The words absorb into his consciousness, but he files them away for later thought, his mind entirely focused on the battle. If he targets his magic and tunes out the voices around him, he can make out just the smallest hints of Ximena’s spell: a language that he’s never heard before. One that does not belong on this continent. 

The poniard strikes. Cuts and caulderizes Ximena’s cheek. She flinches, and the water falls to the stone floor of the hall.

“Thundaga.” 

It comes out rushed and instinctual--He can tell because he’s been tracking the patterns of her magic. He’s never seen a thundaga done in class. And now he knows why.

The thunder that cracks and cannons out of Ximena’s wand-turned-staff is so strong, he can feel tingles of it in his bones and veins. Static in his hair and brows. It threatens to  _ break _ the staff, forming fractures as it shoots out and impales Ivanova through his ribcage, illuminating the room like a flashbang. There’s shrieks. Curses. Panicked movements as the thundaga spell completes its journey through the wizard and strikes the wall behind him, missing the carelessly observing students by centimeters.

Tom’s mouth is dry as Ximena’s knees bend, exhausted. Unconcerned with her classmate as she mutters something to turn her staff back into a wand: a serpentine sort of design that attracts his attention until—

“ _ Fuck!”  _ Ivanova is conscious. Laughing from his spot on the ground, “You broke my ribs, Ximena!” He tries to get up, some students rush to help him, “ _ Good job! _ You severed our tie!” 

Ximena looks at him with something  _ like _ fondness, but it reminds Tom of the toleration he puts towards his Knights.

At the end of the day, lying in his bed in the Slytherin dormitories, listening to the other boys discuss the duel while he pretends to read a book, his mind wanders to her.

It’s not a crush. He is a perfectly reasonable boy of sixteen and  _ he does not have a crush. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some more cryptic symbolism in this bit that could possibly help one unravel things in the main story...possibly.
> 
> I was originally saving Ximena’s staff weapon for a FF8 AU drabble, but this is...good enough. For now. It’s the only verse where she’s allowed to be a little OP, heh.
> 
> Part two coming...eventually.


	4. Chapter 37 Commentary (SPOILERS)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A summary of foreshadowing re: Balam.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're reading this, then you've read at least up to Chapter 37 of Serpentine. There's going to be definite spoilers for that chapter onwards because I'm digging deep into the revelation that Tom discovered, as well as justifying myself that I did build it up.
> 
> There are a few bits from Chapter 37's author's notes that talks about the foreshadowing and hints, but this document will go further in-depth. 
> 
> **  
> _  
> SPOILERS! DUH!  
> _  
> **

The first hint that would have been difficult for readers to spot was the first meal that Balam cooked for Tom in Chapter 35: Beginning: Pollo en mole rojo with nopalitos and a drink called agua de jamaica. People who have been on this journey might have noted that I didn't describe the food at all. No colors, no textures, nothing. Unusual, right?

This is because had previously described this meal in Chapter 1: Her Silence, it is the first meal that Tom sees Ximena eat:

> _A tall glass of something red and dark. Rosy red. Like wine or petals. When she drinks from it, the liquid leaves a pink stain over her upper lip that reminds Tom of blush. Her fingers trail tracks on the condensation of the glass, and it almost makes him shiver to think just how cold it has to be. The food is equally intriguing: simple rice mixed in with small chunks of a green slimy type of...plant? Vegetable? Alongside it is a mound of unidentifiable meat covered in a thick brown sauce topped with some sort of seed. Despite the unusual choices, his mouth begins to salivate at the heavenly foreign smell wafting from her plate. There was something special about this meal. Something sacred._

To me, this was the most obvious hint that I DIDN'T cut out, and I really thought some people might have caught it hehe. 

The next is Balam's mannerisms! Unless I messed up somewhere in the fic (as I have many times), the only people who mimic Ximena's pressing of her lips into a thin line and her phrase 'something like that' are Tom (who copied it from her unknowingly) and Balam, who has never spoken to her in-text. I really thought someone might have picked this up (maybe if you did, you didn't mention it), so I tried to tone the tic from Ximena down around the time Balam was being introduced. Then I upped it up because no one was mentioning it lmao.

Balam's vague, loose sense of teaching is also similar to Ximena's. He trails off right when Tom is at his most interested and usually doesn't continue unless prompted.

> _Ximena’s fingers drum on her book again, “I...Please trust me on this. There’s types of information that is ugly to hear. I would much rather keep it from you.”_
> 
> _Is she trying to protect him from something, then? He doesn’t need protection, he’s not a weak little boy. He’s fine. He’s strong._
> 
> _“...Alright.” He picks his battles._
> 
> _The shuffling of pages. Silence. One. Two. Five seconds. He can’t let this active conversation die, he won’t let it, she’s never talked this much with him._

From Chapter 10: Real Talk. Or from Chapter 9: Autumn,

> _“...What do you think of the American?”_
> 
> _“Which one?”_
> 
> _“The one you just talked to.”_
> 
> _Caught off guard “--He’s interesting.”_
> 
> _Tom crosses his ankles, “Interesting?”_
> 
> _“Oh you know. Different.”_

Ximena doesn't continue conversations if she thinks she doesn't have to, and neither does Balam.

The physical description is a little hard because I had Tom _explicitly_ say that Balam and Ximena did not look alike. Well he's an unreliable narrator, but there's no law saying that she _has_ to look like Balam. Balam and Ximena have many features in common, but I had Tom focus on the ones that separated them. 

> _His hair, a mop of loose curls that cuts just under his ears...At first glance, he thinks the man looks like Ximena, but upon looking again, he notes that their facial features are different. The man's nose is wider, his eyes closer together, lips thicker. Still, it's easy to tell they came from the same part of the world. He wonders if everyone there will remind him of her._

The only other character described with a mop of short curls is Ximena:

> _Quiet murmurs and conversations hang loosely in the Slytherin common room. When Tom returns from breakfast, he nods his greetings at a few classmates on his way to the dormitories when he spots the familiar mop of curls he’s grown to know well._

Later, in Chapter 36: Middle, the two wizards visit a town where he finds that the people look like both his teacher and Ximena:

> _Tom follows behind him as they pass through people who look like Balam. And Ximena. And combinations of the two. Warm skins in sepia, ochre, sienna. Dark eyes and dark hair. It occurs to him that any of these people could be a relative of hers, however distant. Somehow that thought makes him annoyed. That some stranger could have a better claim to her. Ridiculous._

Amusingly enough, an even bigger hint was cut out where, in his introduction, Balam was described as having an evil eye bracelet on his wrist. I decided it wouldn't leave any mystery to his person and cut it. Still don't know if that was the right decision. 

Then, of course, we have the dreams: a frequent source of free foreshadowing real estate. The first and most glaring one is Tom's dream in Chapter 16: Static. He dreams that he's in a forest ("Perhaps the Forbidden Forest, and perhaps not.") with Ximena as she's teaching him how to say certain words. I never typed out the words (that would be too easy), instead, I had her enunciate them as if Tom had never heard or seen them written in his life. 

The words were abuela, papá, and mamá. Or, grandmother, dad, and mom. When Ximena speaks _papá,_ rivers flow out of her mouth. Rivers are a motif of hers, as we know from having Tom describe her magic and general personality.

> _And she continues, this time saying paah-pa. This word, he does not know either. It slides out of her mouth smoothly, and rivers come out. Strong water currents, fresh and salt, with fish and algae. The rivers crash onto the table, briefly flooding the space between them, bringing the flowers to a float and sinking the gems to the bottom._

It's late in the game, but that's partly because I was debating on what part of Balam's name to make public to Tom (and the Reader). The part of his name that means river was omitted because it sounds like a Mandarin name and would have DEFINITELY kicked you guys off track (it's Yao, btw, meaning river in Zapoteco, unless my source is incorrect). 

Balam, however, is Maya, and Maya was the first indigenous language Tom saw Ximena write (her notes in the book of curses). 

More on dreams: Tom's dream in Chapter 19: AWOL is the last time we saw a barn owl being mentioned before one appears before Balam in Chapter 37: The End. In his dream, Tom was being baptized by a padre in a barn owl mask. 

> _His last dream had himself being baptised by a figure (a padre?) with the mask of a barn owl--Something which seemed perfectly normal in the moment, but which brought him a sense of disconnectivity in the waking world. The dream interpretation manual says owls are ancient and wise, which would imply that someone worthwhile will grant him some sort of approval or entrance into a kingdom_ _(his father, mayhaps?)_

Then there is, of course, Balam's magic, which Tom tastes as something _like_ cinnamon, nutmeg, and/or mace. He's never been exposed to allspice (native to Southern Mexico and Central America), so he had nothing solid to draw from. I purposely didn't include _ginger_ in the list of things he tasted during that duel to (again) keep people from guessing too early. Maybe I should have been a little heavier: allspice can be used to replace ginger in recipes. Y'all know how much this story centers around cooking! Hehe.

Then there's Balam's interesting comments re: when Tom tells him his magic feels strange.

> _"Magical signatures aren't my specialty, but..." He trails off, briefly considering something, "I've experienced similar when I was young. Particularly around your side of the globe." Another hum, "I grew out of it, I no longer get it nowadays...But if it really bothers you, I'll write a letter to my mother. She knows someone."_

Tom _says_ that Balam looks to be in his late twenties, but he certainly doesn't speak or act like it. When he was young...Maybe when Ximena was around six years old? What could have stopped his magic from feeling different in London?

Lastly, the room in the house that changes to suit the thoughts of whoever is opening the door. It's a feature that's been in the house for ages (I thought about it since before Serpentine was even a twinkle in my eye) for this OC family. Considering how the Room of Requirement works and how I've already bent and mixed in magic from other media and sources, I figured it would be handy to use it in helping Tom figure out ah...Just what was going on.

Originally, I was going to have Balam remember having a child, the same age as Ximena was when she was lost, before changing it to "No, I'm still too young", and going back and forth before compromising with 'I dream I have children'. Below is the original exchange I had planned:

> _“She’s about six. Little chatterbug. Won’t stop talking to the plants.”_
> 
> _Maybe it’s the look on the other’s face (the glaze over his eyes), but an uncomfortable stillness hangs between them._
> 
> _“--Is she with her mother..?” His teacher isn’t married, right?_
> 
> _“Hm.” Balam considers it, “Yes.”_
> 
> _Tom thought the room reeked of death_.

Ximena thought La Llorona was her mother when she was young. She consequently drowned in a river and returned to life later. 

I wish I had more time to build up the revelation, but such is life, and I'm not too bothered by it. More to fix when I inevitably rewrite Serpentine. 

There's more in the story that I'm leaving out both accidentally and on purpose because it's a lot to keep track of AND a lot of the foreshadowing that foretold Balam is also...Hinting at other stuff. There's also goodies to be found in these little ficlets, even if they're AUs of a fanfiction. Thanks for reading, guys, it means a lot.


	5. ximena speaking bulgarian is big brain (pt. 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ximena goes to Durmstrang AU part dos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was only going to have two parts, but there might be more, lmao.
> 
> don't be afraid to let me know of anything you'd like to see here.

There's a huge part of her that wishes she could say something poetic and dark about herself. Like  _ the shadows have always followed me. _ But that wouldn't be completely true.

However, she  _ definitely _ thinks she has something skimpering around behind her at times. Hogwarts has very obvious ghosts, but none of them feel quite like this.

Naturally, she doesn't share this feeling because she's quite used to being dismissed by her classmates about such things. She's always silly or ridiculous or imagining it, and (to be fair) sometimes she is! Her head gets carried away! It makes things up! That's not her fault!

But this is different. Somehow. Maybe it's the difference in meals that she gets in comparison with the rest or the low humming this land pulls from her magic. But she knows. She knows. There's something about this place and its proximity to the land in which she was found.

She'll write to Señora Rivera about it.

Nikolai ( _ Nikolashe _ she calls him) gets chosen as Durmstrang's champion. Unsurprising, he's brash and brave. If anyone could survive this tournament without dying, it would definitely be him. She hopes. She'd prefer it if she didn't have to attend another funeral. Her black mourning dress has had enough wear and tear. 

People tell her she should have entered, especially after her duel with him. They don't understand her desire to stay alive, she supposes. Is everyone around her in such a hurry to meet Death? It couldn't be her. She'll die when she's ready and not a moment sooner.

Nikolai has a different idea of Death. It's a wonder, actually, that his daredevil tendencies haven't gotten him maimed. Perhaps he was born under a lucky star. Or a patient one.

She watches him in the first event, muttering the proper counter-curse for everything thrown at him. It does nothing, of course, but it makes her feel better. Like she can somehow protect her not-friend from harm while all the way up in the stands, despite the fact that he does  _ not _ need protection (his duel against her earlier in the year is evidence for that). 

Is it normal to be protective over someone who isn't your friend? Was there ever a time when someone was protective over her?

-

The first time he's able to talk to her is at the Yule Ball.

Her dress is such a deep black, that it seems to absorb all light; it is neither glittering with sparkles, jewels, or embellishments as the dress robes worn by some of the other witches. In fact, the dress is more Muggle than Wizard, which displays either terrible boldness or a wonderful lack of tact. A deep, swooping neckline that shows off her sharp collarbone but modestly covers her small chest is not something often seen among magical kind, at least not within Britain. The evening-length of the gown only highlights just how tall she is, towering over many of the Hogwarts boys and a good portion of the Durmstrang and Beauxbatons ones as well. On her shoulders are iridescent black feathers, reaching outward to form a striking silhouette of a rising bird. If he were a poet, he might compare her to an empress. All she needs is a tiara. Or a diadem.

Her fellow Durmstrang witches show up in furs and velvets of rich, jewel-toned colors with similar necklines and similar draping sleeves, but that is where the similarities end. The Beauxbatons witches don silks and satins in vibrant golds and muted blues, the latter color so pale it might as well be white. 

She looks like a splotch of ink on a colorful painting.

He doesn't notice he's been tightly clutching his date's hand until she quietly protests. 

Rather half-heartedly, he apologises to Nemesis and leaves her side with the excuse of getting them something to drink. It is only by pure coincidence that the drink table is located right beside the foreign witch.

He hates  and covets her. Simultaneously hopes that she spills punch on herself and that she'll engage him in conversation. About what? He doesn't know. He's a prefect, isn't he? Inline to be head boy, naturally...

He scowls, only on the inside. What kind of topic was that? That's nothing impressive, being an enforcer of rules… Surely her classmates have done marvelous things leagues more interesting and dangerous than just apply detentions and watch over younger students. The conversations overheard just by sitting near the Eastern students are invigorating. The curses they're taught, the rituals lectured to them, the bloody and proud history of their people.  _ Witch _ people. If only Tom could make Hogwarts more like that—Imagine him! As headmaster! How easily he'd change the status quo! It wouldn't be too hard to achieve that position either, with his allies, his  _ Knights _ at his side…

He spots Evan and begins his trek towards him instead, aiming to speak with the wizard about their next meeting when said boy walks up to Ximena and offers her his arm.

Tom blinks.

-

It takes a moment for her brain to catch up with her memory, but  _ yes, _ this is the boy who is her date for this dance. She hadn't planned on coming at all before he asked, and well, he  _ is _ interesting looking. A lovely head of dusty blonde hair that he said has been lightening from brown since he turned thirteen. Hopefully it'll go all the way, blondes are so  _ fascinating. _

She wishes she remembered his name.

Luckily, it looks like he's popular enough, because there's new people speaking to her now. A foul-mouthed witch and a soft spoken girl. The golden-eyed greeter again and a boy who looks like he swallowed a lemon. Her date keeps such strange friends, but is she any better?

_ Evan? _ Oh right, yes. Evan.

The names of his friends slip out of her head the moment they introduce themselves. She can't find it in herself to feel guilty. Soon, they'll all be a distant memory for her. Or rather, a forgotten one.

She sips her drink.

Blinks. 

Did someone talk to her? Yes...Asking...Where she's from? Nowhere, she supposes. But that response never makes people happy. What should she say?

"I was found wandering around Croydon when I was a child." She shrugs, "Never found my parents." It's an old wound. Almost completely closed. Almost.

"Bastards." Ah, fuck-witch assumes with the rest of her classmates, then. Interesting.

The conversation carries on, but she finds it hard to concentrate on it. It slips through her hands like smoke, and she doesn't even try to grip it.

_ "Croydon? _ " That voice. Unfamiliar. "That's quite close to where I'm located, actually. Lambeth?"

Everything in the London area is upsettingly close. She remembers. There's no room to breathe. Only buildings, only cars, only people. "Oh." She doesn't know what to say to that, "Do you like it?"

The boy, her date's friend, chuckles, "I can't say I do."

"Oh." She feels so repetitive, "I didn't like it either. Especially now with..."

The look on his face flashes into something else. Uncovered or naked. Pained. She stops talking, "I plan to move out of Europe after school." Maybe before, if she can manage to drop out, "Away from everything."

"Where would you go?" The golden-eyed girl (her date's friend's date) asks.

Ximena shrugs, "China, perhaps."

-

Tom learned how to dance the western styles of Muggles alongside the rest of the wizarding community. Naturally, he was exceptional at it, even if he was told he was too precise. Too perfect and crisp. Ridiculous, of course, how can he be  _ too _ flawless?

Despite this, he doesn't ask her to dance. It feels wrong somehow. Like the words shouldn't be allowed to pass through his lips and out into the open where she could hear them. Instead, he does what he does best and  _ watches. _ Watches how Evan guides a partner much taller than him to a jumbled waltz that sounds like a toy-box imitation of a waltz. A child's idea of what classical music should sound like. Didn't Nemesis say that wizards knew what Mozart was? Maybe it was music to sit and listen to. Not to dance to. A shame.

She dances with her classmates from Durmstrang as well, first with her champion, who is one of the only students taller than her, and then with (of all people)  _ women. _ The magical community doesn't bat an eye at this, as women dance with each other in groups and rituals all the time. Why should this be any different?

But he finds himself a little perturbed, alongside the few Muggleborn and half-bloods around to view. Ximena knew better than to do such a thing so then why…

Nemesis is at least half a foot shorter than him, so it's easy to see over her head at what he wants to see when they dance together. She's exceptionally graceful and doesn't resist his lead at all, while still supporting him. The petite girl is stronger than she looks…

Evan had mentioned to him in passing that it was hard to lead with Ximena. Like she wasn't used to it (and really, are any of them used to dancing in this way?), or didn't like it. He said it wasn't altogether unpleasant, but Tom's not sure he agrees. Lending control, even partially, to another person you hardly know is…

He's curious.

What must it be like to be so trusting, so utterly relaxed. What makes Nemesis trust him to lead her? In dance and in allyship? What does it feel like?

Evan twirls Ximena as best as he can, she lets out a small chuckle at the absurdity of it.

Tom wants to know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, that was a little bit of Evan/Ximena, especially for a commenter on Quotev who told me they shipped them. It's become a meme with me, I love it.
> 
> UHHHH if ur reading this, then there's :) some nice related tidbits to...help u out with serpentine stuffs


	6. Receipts (extras)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Collected notes from over the months of writing the beginning of Serpentine, circa August 2018 through July 2019.

When I first began writing up Serpentine around August of 2018, I was working as a server/barista/bartender at a Mariott Bistro during the evenings. During the long stretches of time between customers, I'd usually read or draw, or distract myself with thinking about writing.

Thus, began my Serpentine note taking. I would take paper from the receipt scroll and jot down any notes or chapter inspo that came to mind for me to type up when I got home after my shift. I've found and collected as many as I could find to share them with you, since (in the main story) we're finally past the point of the last receipt.

You might notice that some of these are dropped plotlines/storylines, and some were only altered just a tad. I thought it would be fun to share with y'all my creative process/how ideas were born.

I'll try to sort them chronologically, but a lot of these were placed out of order by me when I decided to rearrange the events as I deemed fit. Also: a lot of these are illegible...So I'm typing them out for you. You're welcome. Transcribing is hard.

Final warning: a lot of the handwritten stuff has typos. I've transcribed everything as is. If you see two pictures together it's because they're part of the same set/idea trail or because they were written on the same receipt (on the back of the other).

_~~~~ _

> _Hector Fawley - a buffoon and fool, but largely in support of liberating India._
> 
> _Insulted Nemesis. Amused Hedwig. Nemesis apologises. hedwig listens._
> 
> _Taking away magic. locking it away as punishment. Credits Yami's family w/ helping push out British._
> 
> _"Personally, If ~~someone~~ you were to steal my bracelet, you would die" said so simpley and matter of factley. I suspect hers is set up the same, though slower._
> 
> _Avoided for a whole week. She hasn't said anything. No acknowledment. Has she even noticed?_
> 
> _Lost in thought Book subjects have shifted from darker, fascinating subjects. Average intellect._
> 
> _To give to not to give._
> 
> _Blessed Yule._

> _Her_ _Story_
> 
>   * _Collecting water._
>     * _unable to get to the well._
>     * _she goes to river_
>     * _cold and miserable_
>     * _heard a woman calling, singing, half crying for her children._
>     * _wanted to reach out and touch her. "and then I drowned"_
>     * _next thing I knew, I was thrashing in the arms of a sister._
>     * _"I was nine"_
> 

> 
> _Halloween Special_

  * > _doesn't ask, why would he?_

  * > _he's Peter pan._

  * > _"I'm in mourning" costume_

  * > _Slughorn talks._

  * > _Strange Hallowe'en happenings_

  * > _finds Ximena among a large crowd.  
> _

  * > _She looks in a trance. almost at ease_

  * > _telling her story._
>     * _Rivers_
>     * _a woman crying for her children_

  * > _ends w/ library scene. he's looking._




> _Was she really your obligation? No._
> 
> _Dissolves into the crowd like mist._
> 
> _Nemesis is... /boring./ All she talks about is whose cousin is whose wife or brother or grandparent or uncle. But still he smiles, charms, and slides into people's consciousness. He is rudely alerted to highblood society customs with eating with the right fork, sneezing correctly, and insulting someone the way it should be done: behind their backs._
> 
> _What are you doing for Christmas? Nothing. going home I supposed like everyone else. Like last year? hums... Perhaps._
> 
> _"Might be nice to stay, but they might miss me." "Might?" "might." "Christmas is meant to be spent with those you love, no?" "Yes." "would you like to write to each other? Like penpals?" "I would."_

_ _

> _Christmas eve. it turns out, was Modranicht. Quiet serenity. Dumbledore meeting. "not on speaking terms" with brother. heard rumours about Grendelwald. What is his Christmas gift? socks. Plain. Black. Wool. New Year's Eve, took a while to convince wizards to switch to Gregorian Calendar. New Years bears little meaning. Tom turns twelve gazing out the window at a white world._
> 
> _Right. Maledicti. Cursed through their mothers. Why would they need the most clensing? There were nastier curses to be under._
> 
> _Was it because of the blood? Did it build up through the generations? Is the only way out to been a daughter? Magic is not free from passion... The law is reason free from passion... Lot of wizard laws seem to disregard this._

> _"It's childish, don't you think?" "I agree."_
> 
> _"You can't force these things with brute force, these people don't understand it"_
> 
> _"What do they understand?"_
> 
> _"Politics." Nemesis looks nervous. But committed._
> 
> _She leans in close, Tom can smell freshly baked bread and _________. it's pleasant. She wants to lean nearer but doesn't. She points to the network tree created and explains the key/legend. And Tom remembers why he chose her as an ally. "It's brilliant."_
> 
> _She flushes, "Thank you."_
> 
> _"The Fawleys love lineage_ _and connection maps like this... Not as much as the_ _Averys, but," She makes a humbled smug look, "Ours are better." "I believe you."_
> 
> _During Break He tickles the pear. The kitchens are low activity and uncrowded, contrast to how he imagined it to be. A few house elves scuttle and_

> _Reason why students can't stay- old laws biting him in the ass. When Hogwarts became ran by government/Ministry became involved. Families didn't trust their children to the ministry. Propaganda. Line theft. Influencing the influential. Damn highbloods, ruining everything. The "magbobs" families didn't have any problems with it. Thought it good and safe for wartime. How ironic. And then the witch hunts began... Hogwarts wasn't seen as safe, despite it /obviously/ being the safest place. Associating with magic too closely was dangerous._
> 
> _He doesn't trust that Dumbledore's offering him resources, of all people. Surely he plans to keep him under watch. Or lock and key... Anyone associated with him can't be much better._

> _Riddle is a curious name. I've never heard it among wizard king or muggle. Tom doesn't know how to feel about that. It fits you doesn't it? A mystery wrapped in an enigma, yes?_

> _Most Noble and Ancient House of Black "All houses only keep track of their own families and bloodlines, and none so throuroughly and detailed as house Black. I know what we are infamous for, but we've also reached out to good blooded families- If there is a change you're pureblooded, they will be in our family tree. "(If they are within Britain") - Declaration of mingling houses bites him in the arse quick. Ximena acts with frevor. Damn_

> _Ten | worry + discussion over the war... What keeps children away over summer is the laws + lack of guardianship. offer resources to him?_
> 
> _the women/matron don't go for it. She knows this school is ~~with~~ encouraging his "strangeness"_
> 
> _Lastly, asks about Ximena again. Tom is forced to reflect on being crushed off. His displeasure shows._
> 
> _At the very least, thank heavens, Adam is not in Slytherin. His bright aura would not be welcome._
> 
>   * _cozy secluded spot_
> 

> 
> _talk talk talk..._
> 
> _Ximena adopts Mali as her puff- Or rather, Mali adopts her as her snake. Ximena explains what having a puff entails. A partnership_
> 
> _Everyone is keen on taking away his teacher. He doesn't like that._
> 
> _"I would have liked to have her as my puff as well." "it's not unheard of" "She looks like she knows a lot" "She wouldn't teach it to you" (some magic is personal) relating to the American continent._

  * > _What's happening back home w/ children._

  * > _What plan  
> _
>     * _nigella seeds_
>       * _gathering from what Ximena taught him._




> _What are Tom's other lessons?_

  * > _fighting? dueling arts_

  * > _divination?_

  * > _ancient runes_

  * > _(empty slot)_




> _Ian was transferred to St. Mungo's, at his parent's insistance. He is otherwise alone in the hospital wing, thankfully. He's not sure how he could handle his whining. Or how gruesome his injuries are. | He has a lot of mulling to do.| The bracelet remains with him, tucked securely in his robe pocket, pulsing and growing heavier by the hour. She knows. There's no way she doesn't. The way she looked at him... He didn't like_
> 
> _it. That look is reserved for the despictable swine at the orphanage. Not at her. Not to him. He's meant to stay the golden boy here at Hogwarts. Beloved. Would she tell? Will everyone listen to her? Will this be what Dumbledore uses as definite proof that he hasn't and won't change?_

> _Naturally, everyone knows about the attack. Ximena gains fame again. Infamy. No legal trouble. Rosiers don't want it out that Ian was bested by Ximena (did he die? no.) Druella is livid. Cygnus, impressed. Katux asks them both to sit at lunch. Suprisingly. "couldn't be caught_
> 
> _giving Rosier was was coming, so you got your (guard dog) to do it."_

  * > _Tom outraged. He doesn't need protection. 'He could have gotten away with_




> _Ximena's not worried about expulsion. Hogwarts is not a safe haven to her. It is just a place to learn, and she can learn plenty elsewhere._
> 
> _Thank Christ he did not attack Ian. He could not handle the weight of expulsion over his head._
> 
> _Does Ximena's threat of expulsion scare him? It annoys him. Gives him anxiety._
> 
> _People are telling him he owes her a life debt. That he'd be dead if she hadn't had saved him. Nemesis reluctantly agrees that he owes her something. Really, what others don't realize is that those things only apply to the old families. Noble and un-noble. If he wants an in/connections with the elite (and the common), his best course of action is to pledge a life debt._
> 
> _Ximena plays with her name. Writes it a million times, each time with a different last name attached to it. Camacho. Garcia. Muñoz. Rivera. She says none of them sound right. Cruz. Diáz. Juarez[*]_

> _They all sound as wrong as Lane. Ortega, Leyva, Guerrero. But he'd prefer either of them any day. Gomez. Carpintero. Salinas. A name is a claim: proof that you belong somewhere. Calderón. Gonzalez. Martinez. They're all far away names. Names from across the ocean. He writes some new names down for her. Zabini, Potter, Shafiq. And then even closer: Black, Flint, Lestrange. Why can't she be a part of those families? Close to here. To England. ~~To him.~~_

> _-And then, temptation seizes him: he writes something blasphemos. Indulgent. Something that'll ban bond them together in blood & water: Ximena Riddle_
> 
> _Rumors rumors rumors. Everyone tells him some-thing different. All scenarios equally likely as he knows ~~knows~~ close to nothing about this world, despite all the time and study. What a fucking waste of up-bringing these children are. It's headache inducing. 'Trust me' someone says, 'She'll be expelled'. 'Trust me' another says, 'She'll come out smelling like Amortetia.' 'Trust me' they say 'She'll be put on trial.'_

> [image description: a pen sketch of Ximena in the first version of her Campanella dress from chapter 37. It is an A-line skirt cut to her mid-calves with a cinched waist and boat neckline. The straight sleeves fall just above her elbow and there is a floral attatchment/decoration adorning the right shoulder/part of her chest. she has no facial details like eyes/nose/mouth.]
> 
> ATK 2/10  
> DEF 10/10  
> AGL 6/10  
> EVA 7/10  
> SPT 4/10  
> LUCK ?/10  
> HP ∞  
> MAG 5/10  
> SPE 3/10
> 
> STRONG AGAINST  
> BLK MAG  
> WHT MAG
> 
>   
> WEAK AGAINST  
> RED MAG  
> POISON
> 
> ABSORBS  
> WATER
> 
> NO EFFECT  
> HOLY

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [*] I THINK IT SAYS JUAREZ, I'm not actually sure. My handwriting failed me here.
> 
> The final receipt is Ximena's stats in her Final Fantasy (8) AU...I told you she'd be OP u__u


	7. Fanart Dump (part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A collection of drawings of Ximena and Serpentine from 2018-Now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHEW IT TOOK A WHILE but I hope you all really enjoy these doodles and art pieces!! :)

For those not in the know, I'm an art major (specifically Media Arts and Animation), as well as an art teacher. During my more active, motivational times, I like to draw my own characters, and that's no exception here.

Below are some works from me and my friends at the time of Ximena, featuring some other Serpentine characters. Some of them you've seen if you come from Quotev or know my RP blog.

This was the first drawing done of Ximena, before I really knew what she looked liked. She was a vague concept in my head, and this piece was more concept art than anything. Her hair is so loose, lmao.

Second piece of fanart by me. This time once Serpentine was established as something I would continue to do. Below is the original artist comments on the tumblr post:

> Young Ximena (12) feat. some witchy friends, Hedwig Acwellan (11) and Yami Acarya (15).

I tried to put in hints of their status/class in their clothes, as well as their personalities. They're all Slytherin girls, but very different.

Slowly finding how I wanted her to look. Book fics are so rare, and I get why: the movie uniforms are so cute. Serpentine is a strictly book centered HP fic, but I wanted to see how she would look in (my own take) of the movie school uniforms. I made the skirt longer and gave her loafers instead of Mary Janes. This is also me playing with art styles, as I am want to do (won't to do?). Ximena's uniform is provided by the school, so that's why it fits her well. The robe, however, she had to buy secondhand, so that's why it drapes as she walks, at least until she learns her tailoring runes uwu.

A doodle fanart an old friend did of Tom (left) using Hero and Christian as reference. We called him (Tom) little bitch boy. For reasons. Then to the right of it is Ximena reading and Hedwig trying to goad her into something. Our boy Tiddles in the back spying and being a little nosy brat.

This was a commission by mel-lion on tumblr.com, and she did a wonderful job on it. Now that we know of Ximena's origins, I feel comfortable sharing it here. Who knows, it might be :) foreshadowing something to come...Can you see the dark hand beckoning her?

  1. Poofy, loose blouse plus high waisted pants are my weakness. It's also vaguely magical enough to fit into most fantasy verses with little change. She looks cute :( Extra. Yes, it was inspired by Howl's outfit in the Howl's Moving Castle movie...It's a bisexual look, ok?
  2. I made this version with green sleeves because I loved the color.
  3. This outfit is based off a pin on her pinterest board (I'd share my account, but there's SPOILERS! On her board). I liked how elegant and simple it was. Minimalistic. Perfect for Ximena.
  4. This outfit is just her standard formal wear when it's not, like, a party or something. The girl likes black. She likes modesty. Those wondering: it is her mourning dress.
  5. And finally something casual. Once she comes into her heritage, she love love loves wearing clothes from her culture. The embroidery is enchanted! Kind of like Balam's :)



  1. This hair...was a pain to do, but the dress was so easy, lmao. It’s probably one of the least modest things she owns, alongside the blue dress.
  2. Some Maya dress because I love to torture myself over huipil designs. She’s not wearing pants, it’s a wrap around skirt!
  3. Fancy again, I just liked this design (it’s on...one of my pinterest boards, lmao) and wanted to put her in flowy sleeves again. I like how I rendered her hair better.
  4. This is absolutely based on Maria’s blue dress from the Sound of Music (yes, it's the first version of her Campanella dress). It’s cute and modest, and idk, I really like it. Don’t look at her heels, they’re UGLY, cries
  5. More Mexican clothing, another wrap around skirt. Something to wear on hot days.



A close up of those hairstyles:

The first one was HELL, never again...My favorite is probably the third one.

This was made for my Ximena Rp blog back when she had a solo blog (instead of being on a multi). I will not share the promo image I made with this, because I still have the URL up and there's SPOILERS on it. Heheh. For those wondering, the flowers are cempasúchil: marigolds. Aka, the flower of the dead.

A drawing of Elle, for her birthday this past April. And then a collection of OC busts, featuring a lil Nemesis, Anzhelina (who is the Seer from Durmstrang mentioned in chapter 4: A-Tisket A-Tasket and in chapter 29: Curses Come Home To Roost, as well as Nikolai Ivanova's sister in our "Ximena goes to Durmstrang AU"), Xóchitl (spoiler alert: this is Señora RIvera's first name), and Giulia, who probably won't be in Serpentine, but might make an appearance in "The price of this wreath..."

Some birthday doodles for Ximena! Back in April earlier this year. It was weird to draw her smiling. You can see her in more modern gear here, and check out her sense of style/fashion :D

LOVELY FANART OF XIMENA with some champurrado by magurisu on tumblr :) She looks so cute! So cozy! With her book on chimeras uwu

Some AMAZING fanart of a Fantasy RPG adjacent Ximena by mistressaugerey on tumblr. You can see her staff and water, hehe.

Señora Rivera (young) with Ximena side by side.

Screenshots from a drawing stream I did a while back. Tried to draw all my Slytherin characters (there's a lot) in one go, but I lost motivation. It's meant to be Tom, Ximena, and Evan, but a lot of people thought I just drew Tom twice, heheh.

Ximena and Nemesis in my clothes/outfits. For funsies. Never ended up coloring this or doing other characters for this batch.

Amazing and well loved fanart of Ximena by my friend, Mar ; m ; Her original description was:

> _ 𝑫𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔, 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 𝒊𝒏 𝒏𝒂𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒆 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒃𝒆𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒊𝒇𝒖𝒍 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒑𝒂𝒚 𝒂𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎. _

In universe, it's a sketch by Ximena's adoptive dad (in our RPs together, her vampire, Salazar (no not Slytherin) adopts her; he's the vampire who takes her under his wing in 'Tom really fucking hates retail')

Here's a picture I drew of him, next to a picture Ximena drew of him:

She has zero artistic ability.

These were design attempts at Ximena's mom. No this isn't a spoiler, I know a _lot_ of you think she was born supernaturally. I have non-magic verses for her on my rp blog. But these could also still be Serpentine canon designs....Who knows.

Next to it is a doodle of Balam and baby Ximena. This was before I really pinned down how I wanted him to look, but I still like it.

I was trying to redesign the movie Hogwarts uniforms and had Ximena modeling one of the outfits.

I wanted a Little Mermaid AU for Ximena. Listen, it works. Don't ask questions. Don't @ me.

Then finally, there was an event on my RP blog where Hedwig turned into an owl (a Magic Anon, for those of you tumblr rp veterans). Here are the drawings from that:

Then at the end, Eric was turned into an owl. Hedwig did nothing to help.

** BONUS: A Tomena baby: **

** **

  * **Name:** Ximena likes the name Javier :) but mr. snake bastard is weird about names and being 'common', so he might want to name the kid Diamond or King or Augustus....Eugh. Ximena might settle with a fancy first name, but end up calling him by his middle name....Idk idk!
  * **Gender:** a lil boy because why not
  * **General Appearance:** uhhh, takes after his mother--thankfully. Tom is weird about people looking like him (he hates....his father's face, lmao), but this results in people asking "oh! who's the father" and it pisses him off like "IT'S ME, YOU PLEBEIANS"...His curls aren't as defined or wild as Ximena's, but the color is similar to hers, and his eyes are black like hers as well. Skin isn't _as_ dark, but maybe a light sienna tone...His build is TALL...and his nose is aristocratic...yeah.
  * **Personality:** uhhhhh he's a little shit? to his dad? lmao, to his mom, he's the SWEETEST angel and he's so polite and always cleans up his toys and helps with cooking and cleaning...He's really quiet and prefers to keep to himself over socializing, more of academic mind than an artistic one.
  * **Special Talents:** uhhh speaking parsel i guess :\ unless Ximena cucks Tom, lmao...He's probably a polyglot just like his mom, learning languages is EASY PEASY.
  * **Who they like better:** you KNOW Tom would be the SHITTEST parent, and like...be weirdly competitive with his kid. "Oh, you're barely learning how to crawl? I was doing that two months earlier than you", and he'd get weirdly jealous of all the attention the kid gets from his mom...Ximena is a doting mother, so the kid likes her better.
  * **Who they take after more:** Physically? Mom. Personality wise...Well...
  * **Personal Headcanon:** This baby will never come into existence, he lives in Tom's Love-Potion Riddled Dream :\ 
  * **~~Face Claim:~~** **DRAWING:**



****

This Voldemort and I had a thread going on where Tom was given a love potion, and Ximena was the unfortunate soul whom he saw first. He ends up liking her afterwards because she didn't try to take advantage of him. Hilarity ensued. The writer is also the artist behind fantasy RPG Ximena! :D

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next, we'll talk about the memes that were made as a result of this fic.


	8. Tintinnabular

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 38: I found you as told through Ximena's POV/

She’s dropped off at her request in front of the abbey. The novices and postulants inside think Avery is her boyfriend and look at her with both disappointment and resignation. Is it that he looks like a young man while she is still considered a child? Or that they are of separate races? 

Maybe the sisters think she’s fooling around with him. They’re surprisingly observant when they want to be.

Avery makes some comment about her residence. Or the neighbourhood, or Croydon itself. It doesn’t connect in her brain, and Ximena can’t find it in herself to be offended, or even to scold him. The abbey has never been her true home, and the moment she’s able to, she’s going to abscond out of here with her few belongings and maybe some of the bibles kept in the Mother Superior’s office (they’re rare, and she’s always wanted to take a look at them, ever since she was little.)

“The Muggles have really made a mess of things, haven’t they?” He looks disgusted at the bombed buildings, “What kind of numbers in their armies do they have to make destruction like this?”

Ximena doesn’t tell him that Muggles can fly and destroy cities within days. She thinks it might put him into a strong enough shock that it’ll kill him. Not that she cares about him, of course, she just needs to keep him alive. Avery is as slimy as they get, but he keeps his word. They owe her. Everything is about debt to these people.

Señora Rivera isn’t surprised to see her (she never is), and asks how her party was. Right. Well, Ximena’s unsure, as usual. It’s a blur of memory in her head, the only things sticking out to her being the music and the feel of dozens of eyes staring at her. She shares this and her guardian huffs, “ _ Good. _ Parties like those are boring as shit. Best forgotten”

Ximena wants so desperately to ask the woman about her time before making her vows. The life she’s led, the things she’s seen. But she’s so private. Perhaps distrustful? As if any little kernel of information given to Ximena will set off a bomb. She comforts herself by saying that the woman will tell her one day. When she’s ready. Or when Ximena is old enough.

Until then, she’s free to make assumptions. 

Before bed, she walks around the convent completing her chores: watering plants, feeding Señora Rivera’s birds, and sweeping her room. She also checks up on her sigils, making sure they haven’t been washed away by rain or an overly enthusiastic cleaner. She replaces five (North, East, and greenhouse area) and fixes up two (South and chapel), using her wand as she would a grease pencil to mark her seals, reciting her incantation under her breath. It’s a wonder no one’s caught her and forced her to clean up her ‘graffiti’, but the sisters have never paid much attention to her, even as a child (is she still a child? She keeps asking herself that but she gets no answers). If anyone ever asks what she’s doing, she’ll say nothing and attempt a gentle stupify. Nuns as test subjects aren’t exactly ethical, but her sigils are for the best. No bombs have touched the convent since she started placing them. Whether or not her magic is useless and it’s all just a coincidence is irrelevant. The seals make her feel better.

Her morning chores are finished in silence and mundanity. Scrubbing and mending and dusting and cooking feel painfully long as if someone took the day and decided to stretch it out like a ball of dough. She sits with the other women in the refectory, eating quietly and listening to the small chatter of the postulants and novices, whom were discussing some correspondence received from a convent in India. The information doesn’t stick to Ximena’s memory, and instead, all she remembers about breakfast was how hungry she felt while eating. Porridge has never been so sad. But she’s lucky to have it, so she doesn’t complain. Even if she’s afraid her lack of eating will cause her monthly to stop suddenly, just as eating so much at Hogwarts had caused it to kick start last year.

Yami said that was normal considering her diet, and proceeded to scold her about it and her unhealthy bodyweight. Ximena would be lying if she said it didn’t make her angry: how could someone like Yami ever understand what it’s like to live under rations? Under poverty? The older witch’s hands and face are as decorated with gold as the Vatican (though hers isn’t stolen, presumably), and her robes are hand-woven, without magic. That kind of labor can only be brought by a family like hers. Or one of the other uppercrust purebloods in school. Wealth really marks Yami’s only fault. If it were erased, she might be an easier person to deal with.

But no matter, because she’s a very useful person. And if dealing with her dismissive attitude is necessary to get what Ximena wants, then so be it. The first summoning was successful anyways, she won’t need Yami for long.

A part of her wishes the two of them could be friends (other dark skinned girls her age are rare in Hogwarts), but attempting to make friends with her fellow witches hasn’t exactly worked out for her (she tugs at her bracelet unconsciously). Nutter, Blight, and Device were all lovely for company, but somehow that special bond between them never formed. As if some invisible force were purposefully keeping them apart.

That’s okay. Ximena has always been alone, and she can be alone for a little bit more.

Work is similarly mundane, made better only by the warmth of her coworkers, who were surprised, but nonetheless happy to see her. They ask her about her school, perceived as a rich overseas preparatory for only the United Kingdom’s most elite--And really, are they wrong? She knows the poor attend the school, but like her, they undoubtedly have to cut costs and be as frugal as possible. Magic helps bridge gaps, but money would be better. Money is always better.

Her tips[1] today are very good, to start. The American soldiers who eat in the restaurant are a cheery change from the somber usuals lingering around the place. One even asks her to dance, and he reminds her so much of Adam, that the wound on her heart opens up a little, and she has to politely decline, stating her piety as a future postulant. But she’s happy to hear stories about their victories and their homes back in the States. She’d love to see New York City one day. Or visit Mali. Or both.

When it’s not busy in the front of the house, she helps the cooks in the kitchen. Spanish cuisine is something different from the meals at Hogwarts and the meals Señora Rivera tells her about, but it’s the closest she can get out here. The mussels, the rice, the saffron, it’s comforting in the same way the abbey is. Close to home but not quite there. Missing something.

The early evening is the start of their rush, and the time Ximena uses to retreat into her head with her thoughts. Waitressing and food prep is instinctual enough for her by now that she can go about it without paying any attention at all. People never notice their server anyways: she’s as invisible to them as she’s been to everyone her whole remembered life. It’s delightfully lonely. Horrendously familiar. 

“Interested in some mulled wine for the holidays?” Sometimes the entire restaurant gets collectively drunk and sings carols in December, and that’s when her tips are at their highest. It’s always best to start them off early, so their intoxication can motivate incoming customers.

The customers don’t say anything, so maybe they don’t speak English--That’s okay, Ximena knows a few tongues, so one of them is bound to be close to--

“Oh,” It’s strange to see schoolmates outside of Hogwarts, in her space. Her work. The neighbourhood where she lives. Hogwarts is a million dreams away. A lifetime away. Full of people who know little to nothing about her. And here he is with… “ _ Señora Rivera! _ ” Her hands fall in front of her as she bows, apologetic for not noticing her earlier. What is she doing here?  _ What are they both doing here? _ Is she dreaming? Usually her dreams are not so structured.

Señora Rivera speaks to her in Zapotec, sharp and scolding. She can’t see her face, but she knows it is disappointed. 

“Disculpame.” Ximena clears her throat, “I—I didn’t expect to see you...either of you here.” It’s the truth. Señora Rivera has a sharp distaste for Spain and anything that reminds her of it. When she heard that Ximena had taken this job, it was met with a series of disapproving tuts… As for the boy… He must want something. That’s the only reason he talks to her.

“Your friend came to visit you, child.” Señora Rivera’s gaze is sharp, “I am simply escorting him, you can’t expect for me to let a young pair like you two go out and about alone.” Yes, Ximena’s reputation is already in question back at the convent, but who’s paying attention to her now that there’s bombings every other moment? Why should she care about the opinions of sisters who don’t truly care for her?

Ximena meets the older woman’s eyes and then moves her gaze down, “I—see. I’ll be done in half an hour, then…” She clears her throat, “Since you’re here, would you like to eat?”

Rather quickly, rather gladly, Ximena retreats into the kitchen, where she’s much more comfortable. The smells and sounds inside stimulate her senses enough to distract her from whatever the hell is going on outside. Two worlds like that just shouldn’t be allowed to collide, it’s bad enough that Señora Rivera was allowed at her trial, where everyone could look upon her and judge. The woman cares nothing about the opinions of others, Ximena knows, but that doesn’t mean she wants people whispering about the woman who raised her. Being protective is in her nature, and to have someone like her junior around said woman…

She soon loses herself in the rhythmic repetition of the knife against the wood block, chopping eggplants, tomatoes, onions (she cuts a piece to place atop her head)... It won’t be the first time she cooks for Señora Rivera, but it doesn’t make the meal any less special. She always wants the food she serves to Señora Rivera to be perfect.

In a blink or a yawn, she’s done, hanging her apron in a back room and buttoning up her coat that definitely belonged to someone’s great-grandmother (it was the only thing in the donation bin that fit her). Ximena forgot the two were waiting out for her until she walks out, her worn boots slacking against the tile floor.

The two magisters walk together at a respectable distance, but somehow it still feels like a strange mockery of a date. Especially with Señora Rivera walking behind the two of them, as if she were watching out for any illicit hand holding (it’s very cold, Ximena doesn’t think he’d take his gloves off).

He looks well dressed, which is notable because she’s only known him to be as poor as she is. His coat is just simple enough to pass as Muggle, which tells her that it wasn’t given to him by any of his pureblooded friends (are they friends?), but maybe obtained through his own means. Ximena doesn’t comment on it, because she’s always annoyed at people pointing out that she doesn’t usually wear nice things, and the younger Slytherin is very prideful. He might bristle if she asks about it.

“—How did you find me?” She’s not undetectable, but she’s only told one person about the city she lives in, so unless she’s forgotten that she’s shared that information...

“A bit of detective work,” Hm. “you’ve always been elusive, you know. Even when we were children.”

_ Were _ children. There it is again. Does he consider himself an adult? What are his qualifications? What has he experienced that’s certified him as grown up? “Are we not still children?”

“Oh?”

“I mean,” Nobody understands her, it’s a wonder she bothers speaking “it doesn’t...I don’t feel like an adult. A woman.”

“Well, I suppose we both still have some growing up to do.” He’s always liked to group them together, as if they were cut from the same cloth. Ximena used to do it too.

“You look like you’ve grown enough.” 

“Finally got my growth spurt.”

Bit of a shame. He looks so stretched out now, like there’s not enough of him to fill out the height of his body. “It took you long enough.”

“So cruel, Ximena! That’s not like you.”

She knows many who would disagree. She thought he would, considering. “Isn’t it?”

“Perhaps.”

“Mm.” 

She wants to enjoy the silence, but somehow he’s more demanding of her attention than usual. One would think spending time with all of those highbloods might give him more control over his impulses: his magic is obnoxious as it is invasive, poking and prodding at hers like a child with a stick.

" _ Cheeky. _ " Ximena sniffs, nose twitching, scolding him for the attempt, "Why are you here?" What does he want? They have nothing else to say to each other. Nothing else on the table. No debt. No rumours. 

"It's a surprise. A Christmas gift."

What? "You shouldn't have." He knows better. He’s smarter than this. "In this time? In this economy?" Did he get a job? She can see him working somewhere quiet like an archive or an antique shop, because he values silence and isolation. 

Something mechanical’s whirring in the background, in the sky, but she tunes it out. He flinches.

"It's not that kind of present… You'll like it, I promise."

"Okay." This feels like a trap, "Where is it?"

"...Hogwarts. That is where I've been spending much of my time."

She blinks, "Really? I hadn't seen you around. I thought maybe you weren't there." It’s hard to ignore his cloying licorice magic. He drapes it everywhere in the common room, after all. A bit like a dog.

They probably talk more after that, but the conversation slips out of her mind like rain water through a gutter. The next time the water is able to pool together enough for her to be conscious of her surroundings, she’s back in her room at the convent, knitting. If she turns her head to the clock on the wall, she’ll see it’s eleven at night.

It’s her guardian that reminds her to be at Hogwarts at the appointed time, which is such a bother because she had wanted to spend Nochebuena at the convent, and now Señora Rivera will want her to stay at the castle since she’s already here. What had been told to Ximena to convince her to come? She can’t remember (how convenient), but her gut tells her it has to do with her curiosity. Her younger classmate might be deceiving, but the most interesting things happen as a result of him. His involvement or meddling.

Maybe it’s more of those cookies.

It’s a comfort, at least, not to return to Hogwarts on the Express: seeing the other students say goodbye to their families always hurts her in a way she can never get over. The mothers hovering and overbearing in the way only love can make happen. It reminds her that she’s not whole. In every sense of the word.

“Smooth.” Her guardian compliments her as they apparate onto the station, “Fix your hair, andas de greñuda.”

She would if she knew how. No one at the abbey has hair like hers, not even Señora Rivera, who has lovely curls that she allows Ximena to brush on nights when she’s in a good mood (it always reminds her how much she wished to be related to her). When Ximena brushes out her hair, her curls poof out like a sponge or flatten out like dead hay, depending on the humidity. When she leaves her hair alone, the curls tighten and look very pretty, but tangle terribly. She’s completely unsure on how to manage them, and whenever she has a bad hair day, she simply resorts to tying it back. This time, she doesn’t do anything to her hair. It’s only her underclassman. Nothing important. Undoubtedly he’s seen her worse or in further states of improper dress (not that she remembers). 

A blink, and she’s walking through the halls again, sooner than she’d like. Stone clacking under her cheap shoes like a steady heartbeat. Almost foreboding. If she were superstitious (which she is), she’d change up her pace to avoid attracting bad luck.

But before she can do so, she turns a corner and spots three people. Who are they? Her brain processes Professor Dumbledore, as detached as ever. He’s the one who greets her. He’s surprised but not disappointed. He is not why she’s here. The second is her underclassman, whom she didn’t recognize for a good moment (she’s so used to looking down at him), despite only having seen him just...

There’s a catching in her throat, in her heart. Seizing and tugging fiercely on her body, pushing and pulling her further towards the third person. His face isn’t known to Ximena (isn’t it? Is it not similar to hers? Is she reaching again? Trying to make connections where there are none?), and yet to look upon it is incredibly tragic. To look upon it allows sorrow and despair to bloom in her soul, and she does not know why. Does not not know why every instinct she possesses is screaming at her to capture this stranger. To keep him from ever leaving her sight.

And then she allows her magic to creep out. To touch, impolitely. Imprudently. Impatiently. Just this once. This complete stranger with eyes like hers. She should be allowed that. She’s so good, so good when she can be, and regretful of the times she cannot be. Atoning for the occasions where she is not good and not remorseful in the least. This is for her, she wants this, she should have it, she—

The sting of electricity is not unpleasant, but certainly distressing. Shocking, for lack of a better word. In that moment of connected magic, Ximena’s mind is elsewhere. Miles away. Years away. Sitting in a warm lap and being gently rocked to sleep. Gently sung to sleep. It’s a song she knows, not just because Señora Rivera sung it to her, but also because her father sang it to her. Nightly.

Her…

Something snaps, and whatever cruel and wicked bond was holding her back breaks. She's tripping over her feet running faster than she's ever done in her life, all to close the short gap in between herself and the stranger. This stranger whose visage does not ring bells, but whose magic clangs and clamors and gongs loudly in her head. So powerful is this thunderous cacophony of bells that she is all at once completely engulfed in grief and loss at not remembering everything. Not remembering this man's name. Not recalling the last time she saw or spoke to him. Not knowing why this man's arms feel like home yet knowing he must feel the same about her, for the warmth in his skin is unlike anything she's ever felt in her short life. It's the light kept on in the front window of a house to guide you home. Home. He smells like it. Like allspice and clay and wet soil and crisp rain.

...Someone's crying… Is it her? Is she capable of such a sound? Such a volatile action that causes her chest to heave and her shoulders to violently shake? She never knew. All of her sorrow has been so quiet, so timid. Unintrusive. This new wailing tragedy that was buried within her… How long as she been waiting?

Ximena’s nails dig into him, her father. Terrified of being separated. Believing, perhaps paranoidly, that something will take her away again. Rip her apart from the only shred of happiness she's experienced in nearly ten years.

Oh! Merely at the thought, she's sobbing louder. Weeping as if she's lost someone. As if she plans to fill the entirety of Hogwarts with salt. But she doesn’t care. There’s a hand on her head and a heartbeat under her ear, and she does not care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] They're Americans, so they tip, but also! Tipping began in Tudor England. The more you know!
> 
> Some more added plot points to help you put together some upcoming stuffs...


	9. meme review

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Memes that were made (by me) as a result of this fanfiction.

First: this joke I was sitting on for MONTHS before making it earlier last year:

theaspiringcynic asked if it's Tom talking to Nemesis, and you know what, it is. Sobs.

Yes I know it's crooked, and we just have to live with it.

This one is kind of an inside joke, but everytime something in Serpentine happens that Tom doesn't like, he 'Hello Kitty Rages'...sobs

Next, we have this abomination: Tom looking at Adam, I guess, lmaooo

Then Tom just being himself. Sobs. 

This quality post I made complaining about Tom:

This genius post that came to me in the middle of the night:

This meme, which speaks for itself:

And then a bingo card, feel free to use it!

Are there more memes? Yes, but they're spoilers. Hehe.


	10. soulmate au pt. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soulmates AU. Don't hate me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A sort of alternate/continuation of my Tom Riddle oneshot: look how long this soul can hold its breath.

Their name has been written on his collarbone since birth.

It had been a name not encountered by him in any capacity, not here in London. A city with thousands of immigrants from nations he could only locate on a map, never even dream of visiting. Whose languages brushed over the top of his head whenever he passed by a cluster of them. A secret group excluding him.

The reality is obviously more complicated. He now knows that his soulmate obviously belongs to a higher tier group. Superior in everyway to the lowly, boring, uninteresting and heinous _Muggles._ It's the only reality he will accept since Albus Dumbledore came into his room and told him of his abilities. He is a witch. His soulmate _is_ a witch. He has said it and it is final.

So then it's natural. That upon looking at her, through the veil of his eyelashes, gaps in between bookshelves, and passing classmates, he's sure that the name that belonged on him is referring to her. It's just fact. Not biased or colored by any of his expectations or unconscious desires.

When she tells him her name, it doesn't match. He's angry. How dare she lie to him, her soulmate. How dare she betray and defy his expectations. ~~His daydreams.~~ There is a strict script to follow and to have her breaking it is unacceptable. What's more unacceptable is her indifference to his own name. She should have said something. Not reacted so cooly, as if it meant nothing at all.

He calms when his mentor shares her memory problems. That there's a reason for her name not matching up with what's written on his skin. She simply does not remember it. It's not a crime _she_ committed against him, but a crime that her mind committed. It'll be dealt with in time.

~~The memory problem doesn't explain her indifference to his own name, unless she miraculously forgets the name tattooed on her own body. Maybe she wants to play it cool. Brush it off and act as if it mattered little. And it does matter little. That's good. But still, she should care about him automatically, right? They were born into this world together, she's bound to him. Belongs to him. Doesn't she want to learn her real name from him? He can give it to her...~~

He can play this game. He can win it. And make her pay for him having this attachment towards her. This distraction.

Tom brings it up often to her. Privately. In their study sessions, walks, and mealtimes. The subject of soulmates. Inherit ownership. Ximena derives little interest in the subject, even when he breaches the surface of the name he owns on his skin.

"Names are good." She states neutrally, "It's a guarantee. No confusion. Especially if they're unusual names."

That must be it. There's so many Toms. She just can't be sure that it's really _him._ ~~Nevermind his middle and last name, his mind is moving too fast with new reveries.~~

"I agree." Naturally. His soulmate would never be so tied into the idea of romance or dependence or--

"Mine is in Mandarin, so I've been trying to study it." She yawns, "It's on my back, though, so it's hard to read a foreign script backwards in a mirror… Where's yours?"

He freezes, the quill in his grasp falling limp in his hands. Soulmarks are something personal, not to be talked about in such detail as language or location. But that's not what bothers him. Ximena is like that, her social etiquette often being left behind by how quickly her brain is trying to think.

Tom swallows the dry lump in his throat, "What?"

"Mandarin." She explains again, "I had a different one, when I was younger. On my thigh, but I think she must have died, because it faded one day when I was ten." A shrug, "But I don't know how long I've had this one. How long have you had yours?"

He grips his quill hard. It snaps in half.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk when Serpentine will be updated so enjoy this.

**Author's Note:**

> If you like this and you don't know where it's from, consider checking out the monstrosity that is Serpentine!


End file.
